


He can Work a Miracle

by Genkai



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Donuts, F/M, Fanservice, Fluff, Karaoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Genkai/pseuds/Genkai
Summary: You hated the bar scene and you hated karaoke. Maybe because singing was not a gift bestowed upon you but when it's your friend's birthday, you can't really refuse right? After your horrible performance, you stumble upon a certain member of Fall Out Boy and decide if anyone can get you to sing, it's Patrick Stump.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	He can Work a Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> I am in a serious FOB kick right now. Seriously, if anyone wants to RP, hit me up. Happy to double as anyone else from FOB but I'd die for a Patrick.
> 
> At any rate, new to writing for the fandom, it's not something I really do these days (writing with celebs I mean) so I hope my first foray is okay. It's a sweet one shot, might do another later if inspiration strikes. Also consider this set in 2020 but without the whole...covid-19 stuff going on.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It took considerable coaxing and the promise of alcohol to lure you out to one of your local bars on a sweltering Monday night. Your best friend, Jen, was turning thirty and she wanted to go out drinking and sing karaoke. Bars weren’t your scene and you weren’t big on drinking these days either but you loved her so you decided to suck it up for a night and deal with the discomfort if only to let off a little steam from work and celebrate your friend getting a little bit older. But perhaps not anymore wiser. She had her sister, Becca, tag along and the three of you fell into your routine of exchanging family gossip which morphed into each of you venting about how lame work was and how you’d all move out of California, that this year would be the year where you’d migrate to someplace cheaper and start over together.

An hour into the night, you had consumed two rum and cokes but they weren’t doing the trick.

The birthday girl on the other hand was already relaxed and dancing with strangers in front of the wooden platform that raised about a foot off the sticky floor of the bar, meant to be the stage. Someone was singing "Wonderwall" by Oasis. It was pretty cliche and a little sad. The singer looked to be half your age and from his voice, didn’t know the true heartbreak behind the classic song. You looked down at your empty tumbler, the last fragments of ice dissolving into puddles of water. Tilting the glass back, you drank the final drops of what remained of your drink as Becca nudged you as the stage became free following weak applause. “Hey you should go up there.” She smiled, sticking to a simple mai tai. 

“What? No.” You scoffed. You were not a singer and you were not the kind of person to crave the spotlight. So in other words, karaoke was a hellish activity to even consider.

The birthday girl sauntered back and fell into her chair. 

“Well when you were in the bathroom we put you on the list.” Becca snickered and Jen grinned at her sister.

You gave them both a hard look. “I’m not singing.” You were adamant but Jen got up out of her seat, always the outgoing and hardworking woman. Once she got an idea in her head, it was impossible to dissuade her.

“Attention everyone!” Jen waved her arms. The bar was about half-full with patrons, most were minding their own business but a few looked over to see what the commotion was. “My friend is really shy and needs some encouragement.” Jen then began to point at you as you sunk down in your chair, almost spilling to the floor before Becca grabbed you and pulled you up to your feet. You huffed at her before you realized more people were now watching. Jen began to cheer and clap and so did a few others watching, perhaps they were morbidly curious to see the impending trainwreck. You hated the feel of their eyes but knew you couldn’t say 'no' at this point so you sheepishly went up to the stage and took hold of the mic stand.

You weren’t sure what song had been selected for you but at this point it didn’t really matter.

A funky, joyful beat began to play and you began to relax.

Oh, you knew this one.

“Do you do, do you remember when we drove, we drove, drove through the night.” It was “Favorite Record” by Fall Out Boy. Your friends knew you were a fan and thankfully selected a song that didn’t require too much range or complicated lyrics. From the stage, you had a view of the bar in the back. It was made of wood and curved inward like a crescent moon. Some people were there, backs to the stage as they focused on their drinks or conversations with the gruff looking bartender. You spotted someone in a black fedora with their back to the stage but as you began to dig into the song, he glanced over his shoulder a few times before returning to his drink. Others closer to the stage were scattered among small tables, alternating between watching your performance and checking their phones. 

A few minutes later, the song ended but for you, it was a blur of you trying to breathe while swaying to the chorus of the song. Becca and Jen clapped as you hopped down and ducked your head as you felt your face burning bright. The others in the bar were offering some of their own applause but it was more likely due to pity than praise. You walked back to the bar and leaned against it. You needed a drink. You looked to your right and spotted the man in the fedora. He was nursing something honey colored in a tumbler, likely whiskey or something. 

You raised your hand to get the bartender’s attention but he was focused on the blonde at the other end of the bar. You rolled your eyes and pressed your dry lips together, nerves and singing drying your mouth considerably.

Suddenly a glass of ice water was slid toward you. 

“Thanks.” You said dryly as you accepted it and took a few small gulps before putting it down. 

“They should give you guys water bottles when you get on stage.” The guy in the fedora commented, his tone sympathetic as you heaved yourself onto the barstool, realizing it would take a while to get a drink, given how flirty the blonde was. 

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t even be on stage.” You joked.

“You weren’t as bad as you think you were.” He said.

This caused you to chuckle and shake your head. He was too kind. “Do you sing?”

In the dim light of the bar, you couldn’t see the knowing smile that ghosted his lips for a few fleeting seconds. “Yeah.” He just replied as he took another sip of his drink and set it down on the bar. You leaned a little closer, trying to get a better view of his face. Even though you were sitting beside one another, the low lighting made things difficult to see any distinguishing features. Yet for some reason, you felt like you knew his face from somewhere. “Not many people like “Favorite Record.” He commented after a lull in conversation.

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “I am sure everyone picks “Centuries” or “Thnks fr th Mmrs” or “Uma Thurman” or even “Dance, Dance” before “Favorite Record” for karaoke.” You considered, stopping from listing more of Fall Out Boy’s greatest hits. He had on a white tee shirt and a denim jacket, as well as dark wash jeans. He was dressed casual but far too layered for the California heat wave breathing down our necks. As the bartender finally tore himself away from the blonde who was surely not over 21, he came back and took your order of another rum and coke. “You from around here?” You asked the stranger, while the bartender hastily made your drink, clearly more interested in getting back to the blonde than earning a tip from you. 

“No. You?”

He wasn’t much for conversation.

“Yeah, I live about ten minutes away actually.” Though that bit of information was surely unnecessary. But as you took your drink and got ready to go back to your friends, it suddenly dawned on you who your company was. A look of horror swept over you as you realized you had just butchered his own song. “Oh god.” You muttered under your breath. “You’re Patrick from Fall Out Boy.” You swallowed. “I am so sorry you had to...to listen to that.” Now was the best time to make an exit right? “Sorry.” You mumbled again and fled back to your table. You didn’t see it but Patrick turned and watched you go, more amused by your reaction. Any other fan would have asked for a photo or an autograph or would try to sing him a few bars to somehow convince him they were the missing member of Fall Out Boy. Patrick finished his drink and asked for another while he turned fully to face your direction and watch as you slumped down in your seat, your friends not realizing how long you had been gone trying to get a drink.

The next few minutes passed as you inhaled your drink and tried to put the mortifying incident behind you though deep down, you knew this night would haunt you for many years. You didn’t tell your friends who you ran into, not wanting to draw attention to him. You pulled out your phone though and did a quick search to see he had just finalized his divorce last week. You looked back to where he was, his back now turned to you. A pang of sadness hit your heart as you considered how painful it had to be for him. No wonder he was drinking alone, trying to blend in with the crowd. You wanted to offer Patrick condolences but didn’t think you had the guts to go back over there. At least until Jen caught you staring. “You should give him your number.”

“What?” You nearly fell out of your seat.

“Come on, you need to put yourself out more.” Becca piped up.

This outing was beginning to feel like an excuse to torture you but you had a feeling if you didn’t go over there yourself, Jen might go herself and would spill the beans about the bar’s celebrity patron. Deciding to swallow your pride, you got up and walked over as Jen yelled out words of encouragement. You leaned over the bar again and looked to Patrick. “Sorry about my friends.” You offered a disclaimer and a look over your shoulder. They were watching, better make this quick huh? “I’m sorry to hear about your divorce...” The words left your mouth before you could find a way to sound more poetic and gentle. “My friends thought I should give you my number. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them who you were but this is me pretending to do that.” You rambled. “I hope you have a good night.” You pushed off the bar but before you could leave, he held out his phone to you.

A look of confusion fell over you.

What was he doing?

“So you’re not going to give me your number?” He asked you. Behind his thick rimmed glasses, you should see a hint of genuine curiosity and mischievousness in his eyes. 

A wave of red rushed to your face as you took the iPhone and struggled to put yourself into his Contacts. Once done, you silently handed it back to him and went back to your friends, unable to believe you had just given Patrick Stump your number. A bit of panic rose up inside of your chest, tightening. Did you give him the right number? It’s possible you made a mistake but even if it was right, you knew nothing would happen. He was being polite. Twenty-one seconds later, your phone lit up with a new message which read:

“Just checking to see if you gave me a real number.”

You smiled as you wrote back:

“Sorry, who is this?”

It was a cheeky response and you turned around to see him look at the message. Patrick turned and caught your gaze and offered you a trademark smirk that melted your heart. He looked back down at his phone and typed out a quick reply before he waited for it to swim through the air and make its way to your own phone. A few seconds later, you got the message which read:

“You did well tonight, though if you do sing again maybe try something from Panic! At the Disco.”

It followed with a winky emoji. You let out a dry laugh and took a drink, finding it rather cute that he’d push you toward another band’s song. Maybe he didn’t mind your attempt, provided it was someone else’s lyrics. You took another sip, not sure how to reply to that. Becca looked over at you as Jen got up on stage to sing a Backstreet Boys song. After a minute, you decided to just go back and have an actual conversation. Jen’s eyes followed you and you turned and offered her a reassuring wave as you plopped down at the bar and sat next to Patrick who kept his back to the stage while you faced it. “You could give me some lessons you know.” You said over the music.

It wasn’t a serious suggestion.

But Patrick seemed receptive.

“Yeah? Sure. What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked.

Your attention moved from the stage to Patrick as you stared, not sure if he was kidding. “I’ve got work.” Your shoulders slouched. You could take the day off, call in sick. “I can call in sick.” You blurted out. Patrick frowned, clearly concerned about your choice to shirk responsibilities. “I hate my job.” You then added. “I need a day off.” Hopefully that didn’t make you look like a horrible person but there was no way you were going to let this chance slip through your fingers. The office would be fine without you for one day. And if it burnt down, so be it. But as you began to worry that Patrick was now thinking poorly of your work ethic, he smiled.

“Okay, I’ll text you where I’m staying, swing by tomorrow at 11.” Patrick said as he hopped down and fished out his wallet. He put down way more than enough cash before he looked at you, “For you and your friends tonight. See you.” Patrick flashed a wave before he headed out, deciding to leave before he was recognized by anyone else. You watched him go before you went back to your table and decided you couldn’t sit on this vital gossip any longer and confessed to them who you gave your number to. Both Becca and Jen were ecstatic for you and also impressed he was generous enough to cover the tab for tonight. The rest of the night was shortlived as Jen and Becca had work tomorrow too.

“Keep us updated.” Becca said as they hugged outside of the bar, parting ways.

You made it to your car, thankful not to get a ticket. This city enjoyed gouging its residents. You drove back to your apartment you shared with an older woman who taught at the middle school nearby. She was asleep so you crept to your room and shut the door before you dug out your cell phone to offer Patrick one final text for the night:

“Thanks for tonight, looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You were still pretty sure his offer wasn’t genuine and you were simply making a fool of yourself but on the very slim chance he was sincere in his offer, you wanted him to know you wouldn’t forget. As you undressed and got ready to try and descend into dreamland, you kept checking your phone but didn’t get a reply from Patrick. Disappointment sunk into your stomach as you got in bed and spent more time than you cared to admit, wondering about what you could have done more, or wishing you had sung anything other than a Fall Out Boy when Patrick Stump was in the audience. 

When morning came, you didn’t have any next texts and told yourself that you would just go to work and maybe in a decade, the embarrassment would be a distant memory. Maybe.

You got in the shower and thirty minutes later, emerged clean and ready to greet the day.

A notification blinked and you saw Patrick had texted you. Finally.

But now you didn’t want to look. Surely this was him telling you he was joking and that he had other, better, things to do. But you decided to bite the bullet and see what it was, knowing it couldn’t simply hang over your head all day. You read the text and felt relief wash over you. It read:

“See you soon.”

It had a smiley face as well.

You got dressed and decided to pick up some donuts, figuring hotel breakfast left a lot to be desired. You drove to the hotel and noticed you were a little late but you figured the donuts would be a decent apology for tardiness. You found him lingering in the lobby, wearing a black tee shirt and jeans. You waved and approached and he led you back to the elevators. ‘Sorry I’m late.” You gestured to the pink box in your hands. “I brought breakfast if you’re hungry.” You offered sweetly as you stepped in and he pressed the 8th button, launching them upwards. 

“Thanks.” Patrick smiled, not upset about having to wait a few extra minutes.

The two of you walked down the long stretch of hallway before you reached his room at the end. You had been expecting some amazing suite but he booked a plain, ordinary room. It had two twin beds, a desk, a balcony, a tv, mini fridge and cramped bathroom off to the left. You moved and set the box of fried goodies on the bed closest to the door as Patrick moved to the middle of the room. “You know you don’t really have to give me singing lessons.” You began to say before he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his arms to close the gap. You froze, unsure of what to do in the moment as your breath caught in his throat, lips connecting. He swallowed your surprise as his other hand wrapped around your lower back, keeping you close but grip still loose enough to ensure you could back away if needed. 

Instead, you leaned in and moved to rest your hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t too tall but you were still a few inches shorter than him so it worked out. In the back of your mind, you decided you two fit nicely together. The kiss broke as he looked to you, trying to gauge your reaction. “A little unorthodox but I like it.” You said playfully as you brought up a hand to brush fingers through his milk chocolate hair. 

Patrick didn’t want to think. Being caught in a divorce, however how amicable, was a drain on his emotions. All he wanted to do was feel something physical. The hand around your back traveled up, palm pressing into your thin blouse, pushing you against him more firmly. Your eyes caught his as he dipped back down, the next kiss light a spark of lightning setting the room on fire. Your lips parted to welcome his tongue as you pushed him forward and onto the vacant bed. He stumbled backwards and sat back as you moved onto his lap, teeth tugging at his lower lip. Patrick laid back and dragged his hands up and down the sides of your body, the stresses that plagued him were beginning to fade. You were his anchor in the mental storm brewing.

You sat up and looked down at him, trying to connect the dots as to how you wound up in his hotel room. This wasn’t you at all. You enjoyed nights in with Netflix. You didn’t move this fast when it came to getting physical and yet you couldn’t deny yourself what you wanted. Patrick gazed up at you, his hands settling upon your hips as he watched your try to process the events. They were sudden, after all. “You don’t--” He began to say, sweet enough to offer you another exit if you were getting second thoughts. He didn’t want to pressure you to progress, he knew he had some authority over the situation, given his status. You sighed softly and shook your head, moving to press your finger to his lips.

“I want to.” You assured him with divine clarity. He nodded and you bent down, pressing your lips to his pale neck, placing soft wet, cautious kisses, testing to see his reaction. Patrick breathed in and closed his eyes. “I want to get you to sing for me, baby.” You whispered, surprising even yourself with the daring declaration. His eyes fluttered open and he moved and rolled you over so your back was pressing into the cheap mattress. Your eyes widened as he straddled your form. 

“Actually...I’m going to make you sing.” He smirked as he leaned down and traced your ear with his tongue. Your heart leapt as a soft gasp escaped your lips. “I can be persuasive.” He whispered as you shifted beneath him, delighted to accept a different form of instruction, knowing you were in wonderful hands.


End file.
